


You're a Beautiful and Violent Word

by sonnie



Category: Sicario (2015)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Consent Issues, Depression, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Pining, Poor Life Choices, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Negotiation, Self-Destruction, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, mentions of attempted sexual assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonnie/pseuds/sonnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Even though I haven't seen you in years, yours is a funeral I'd fly to from anywhere.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>Kate doesn't get away clean.  Yeah, she knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pray to Nothing Out Loud

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a multi-chapter fic for this site before. This is probably not a good idea. I wanted to explore the possibility of Kate and Alejandro meeting again, and having things work out a little differently than before. But in my mind, it's going to take a lot of time before anything can actually happen between them, because of _reasons_.
> 
>  
> 
> Title and the first line of the summary comes from the song _These Few Presidents_ by Why? The tone of that song is perfect for this first chapter.

-

It’s called compartmentalization.

(If she cared to think about it, she’s actually been doing it since she was a kid, but _not_ caring to think about it is the crux of the matter.) 

Hostage rescue is not for the faint of heart, but it’s not something you want to do unless you have one. She finds time for friends (mostly coworkers) and romance (a now ex-husband) and family (she’s going to pretend that Dave’s wife joking that Kate’s like the son they never had _totally_ counts). After she has a little time and distance from something, it gets its own little folder in her mind. By now, she’s practically a filing cabinet. In day to day life, she neatly separates her thoughts and decides when to think of them, and eventually they fall into two categories: the mission, and everything else.

It’s tough fighting her way back to being functional again. In his report, Matt alludes to some vague injuries she sustained and it buys her a week before she has to return to work. It’s seven days of nightmares and panic attacks and vomiting up everything and alternating between hot and cold showers and suffering nearly non-stop crying spells. The onslaught of sensation doesn’t stop until a piece of her breaks deep inside and a comfortable numbness settles over her. She’s experienced this many times before, when loss or fear or pain threatens to harm her indefinitely and irreparably, and the new Kate is always a little sharper and a little meaner and a little more beaten down. 

The moral of the story is that a new Kate emerges regardless.

Matt had said Reggie wasn’t ready, but it wasn’t really about that—anyone smart and upstanding enough with Reggie’s credentials would have bailed before the jet even left the airfield. If Kate couldn’t be convinced to get on board with their tactics, eventually she would have to be subdued, and a part of Matt must have been looking for someone a little morally gray on one hand and a little morally weak on the other, just in case. Kate doesn’t exactly lie to Reggie about why she signs the waiver, she just...doesn't tell him. He’s a good partner; once he sees she’s keeping quiet, he trusts that her reason must be good, or at least better than fear and cowardice.

(Kate makes damn sure he never sees her in a bra anymore, and tells him it’s because she really did decide to get a little lacey something. She can’t bring herself to elaborate on the permanent physical marks Alejandro left on her body when she can barely stand to think about what he’s done to her mind. Dear God, she could never go public after she actually went through with signing the damned thing. She’s so ashamed she can barely breathe sometimes, even though the only other person that was there will never tell anyone else.) 

Dave never asks questions about the mission when she comes back to work. It is a kindness that he doesn’t press her about the waiver he’d been presented; the words that they both know are not hers. By then, her black eye is yellow-green. Her hands stop shaking and she manages to shove her half-full pack of Indian Creek cigarettes in a drawer without touching them for over a week. Whether Reggie was kidding or not, she even plucks her eyebrows, just in case her team really does think she looks like shit. She doesn’t look like anyone’s number one draft pick anymore.

But the only thing her coworkers see when she comes back is a fantastic shiner and a shitload of bruises on her ribs. She doesn’t mean to show them on purpose, but she’s not paying attention in the locker room because she’s recalling that horrible tunnel and pretends that the aftermath of what is clearly an epic beat down is actually really cool instead. She offers up unconvincing half-smiles and truthfully tells them she can’t talk about it, which sounds kind of badass when she manages to turn away before her face crumples. They never guess that her injuries came at the hands of her allies. After all, they’re supposed to be the good guys.

_Dave warned me to think carefully. It's as close as he could get to telling me I should've said no._

Kate said it best herself; she still says it to this day: she is not a soldier. She doesn’t like to attack preemptively. Yes, it’s reacting instead of acting, but she needs to know what she’s up against first. She joined the squad to rescue hostages, for Christ’s sake; her job is to _not_ spray bullets indiscriminately and to hell with collateral damage. Protecting the innocent is why she straps on a gun every morning. But nothing in this war is about her or her feelings. It’s so impersonal that she takes it as an affront. Poor, hopelessly outmatched Kate will never get justice for what was done to her. Being a victim takes some getting used to.

-

-

Reggie is hesitant at first. It’s not his fault, but he still beats himself up about Ted. But on some level, he must know if he doesn’t get her out there more, it’ll never happen, so eventually they spend plenty of pleasant and uneventful nights out at local pubs and bars just like old times. She stops smoking altogether after two months, but Kate’s got a hundred only slightly less obvious tells. 

The one thing Reggie notices first, though, is how she swiftly but not unkindly dismantles anything resembling a cheesy pickup line, which isn’t new, but she seems to lose all interest in men, period. It’s like a switch has been shut off. Kate’s not exactly a nymphomaniac, but Reggie knows that when she really wants it and doesn’t have it, she _feels_ it, man. After Evan left, Kate was dying to get laid, and when she finally met Ted, Reggie was happy for her.

_Shit._

Despite not even knowing Kate for two years, they’re best friends. Best friends are supposed to share things with each other, and they don’t do that anymore. They’re also supposed to notice when something’s wrong, and this, _this_ they still do. Kate sees the way Reggie looks at her thoughtfully, the way he catches himself before saying something when he clearly wants to. He circles her warily but knows demanding the answers he wants means she will never, ever tell him. She adores him for that. He may not know her, but he knows her. No one respects her enough to keep her boundaries intact. Not anymore. 

Matt had never wanted Reggie along. A person is more vulnerable when they’re alone, and Reggie was her sidecar of reason that came along with her over the border. Before the tunnel, Kate knew they were getting into some deep shit, but he had advised against going. Kate wouldn’t have been able to sign a waiver had she not been there to see what happened. Reggie would have not signed either way. But Kate went, and she witnessed, and good intentions don’t matter much when the bottom line stays the same. 

They stay partners and they stay friends. Nothing is quite the same, of course, but it doesn’t fall apart all at once the way most things seem to in her life nowadays. It’s not Reggie’s job to save her, only help; a bollard for the wreckage of the H.M.S. Kate, but not a rescue ship. She kicks down doors and risks shotgun blasts to save people unable to save themselves. She finds it so ironic there’s no one help; it would be nice if someone could return the favor for once. But Kate doesn’t go through life doing things because of what is in it for her. She wonders when this started becoming a problem.

-

-

Kate only falters once in front of someone else, but her audience is sympathetic.

Arms askew and sprawled on her back whilst wearing what can generously be considered a Disney princess costume, Kate nearly has a heart attack when Dave’s granddaughter, Clara, extends curious fingers towards the marks on high on her left breast. She forgot that lying down and stretching out redistributes that whole area (not that there’s much to redistribute) and the scars are now visible above the nylon trim of her camisole. 

(It’s not the worst wound Alejandro left on her, but it’s her least favorite: the brand from his Heckler & Koch. Kevlar works wonders that fall short of miraculous when your shooter is less than twelve feet away. Christ, she’s lucky he was using a handgun. It took ages to stop hurting and once the pain stopped, those two marks remained. Her doctor informed her that her breast tissue was too delicate to heal right and boy, he wasn’t kidding.)

Clara’s fingernails are an inch from her skin before Kate shrieks and thrashes like a serpent to slip away from her, and Kate’s not sure which one is more startled. Tears fall uncontrollably and Kate shakes and shakes and Clara just sits and stares at her in horror, her four-year-old mind unable to process what’s happening. After a minute where she can literally do nothing but sob, Kate scoops herself off the floor and runs to the bathroom. She leaves the door open so she can keep an eye on things (she’s being the worst Aunt Kate _ever_ ) and runs water over her face until she’s calm.

It takes awhile.

In the meantime, she hums a Julie Andrews song to calm them both down. Her voice is a haunting, soothing echo as it bounces around in the tiny room. She hates _Mary Poppins_ , but _The Sound of Music_ comes to her easily enough. A woman that doesn’t have what it takes to be a nun? Sure, sounds nice. Why, Kate’s a woman that doesn’t have what it takes to be a human being with integrity! She knows she’s really beating herself up, but she’s on a serious roll right now. Months of suppressed feelings are fighting for airtime, but the realization she may have scarred Dave’s granddaughter for life finally snaps her out of it.

In a solid demonstration of what Kate is capable of under duress, she takes a deep, shuddering breath and stumbles through a cheery rendition of “My Favorite Things.” Clara is mesmerized; Kate has a gorgeous singing voice that she uses only to placate small children and on one spectacular occasion, dazzle coworkers that were determined to embarrass her during a round of drunken karaoke. She’s on the second verse before realizing that her own list of things that make her happy is really rather short. She’s never been the type of person that could find and keep happiness.

(Not too long ago, Kate thought that making a difference would do that for her. Whoops.) 

Maybe being able to identify these things might help, but Kate is not like other girls. Her job hasn't left her with much else in her life. She can’t be honest with her friends about the things that are affecting her most. Her mother has largely ignored her since she decided to be a colossal disappointment and join the FBI instead of the New York City Ballet after graduation. Kate simply doesn’t speak to her father. And Dave’s nice enough to let her babysit his granddaughters, but that’s probably because he figures it’s the closest she’ll ever get to having any of her own.

If Kate ever finds something that makes her genuinely happy and fulfilled again, she’ll start making a list.

Sometimes that feels like a monumental _if_.

When Clara’s mother picks her up, things are pretty much back to normal, at least on the surface. Norah’s not really anything like Dave or his wife, in much the same way Kate is nothing like her parents either. They were best friends in school, had very well-connected families, and married successful men. But Norah knows she’s a great catch and a good person; she confidently inhabits her own life and her husband worships her. Kate’s always had something to prove and deep down, is never completely sure of the job she’s doing. She’s always hungry and unsatisfied—her mind supplies wolfish—and it’s probably why her husband left. Evan must have known he wasn’t enough for her, and then suddenly she wasn’t enough for him.

Kate knows true acceptance can only come from within, or some bullshit like that, but the only people that can give her answers have already given them. She just doesn’t happen to like what they had to say. After driving away from Norah’s magnificent home and perfect life, the first thing Kate does is start calling in a few favors. There's a thin line between denial and actual progress, and she's going to fake it until she makes it. New training exercises and access to better equipment aren’t going to make a real difference where it counts, but it can’t hurt. 

It was never a mission to prove herself, Kate realizes. She just had to live through it. She did.

She still is.

-

-

On some level, Kate always expected the subpoena. 

It’s a relief, truly. It might finally be a way to shed light on what happened. Yes, she’s still ashamed that she signed a waiver at gunpoint, but she’s more appalled that the men responsible for putting her in that position got away with it. She can finally go public and—what she wanted to do all along— _obey the law_. In the end, there was no difference between Matt, Alejandro, and the men they chased and killed. Those men in the tunnel paid with their lives, and it’s time for Matt and Alejandro to pay a price too.

This is not how things turn out.

Kate's signature means more to some people than others. “Please never contact me again” notwithstanding, Kate finds herself face-to-face with her father after fourteen years. She's reminded of why she fought so hard to become an emancipated minor when Senator John Macer moves to close the hearing to the public before she can even state her name for public record. Her testimony is pointless. Kate wants what she went through to _matter_ , but no one here cares about the truth. The room is full of men who just want to protect the spotless image that having a man like Matt solve their problems affords them.

In some ways, it’s admirable that Delta Team is willing to get its hands dirty. And it might not be work Kate particularly believes in (controlling cartel activity versus eradicating it is not a compelling argument), but Matt acknowledges that this fight will only be over when Americans stop keeping the cartels in business. That’s a problem he can’t fix, so he fights the symptoms and doesn’t get to scratch the surface of the cause, and that sure sounds familiar. Kate doesn’t want to believe that they’re anything alike, but then again, she doesn't know Matt at all.

(It occurs to her that Matt isn't at the hearing because he's still out fighting the good fight. He had asked about a husband and kids, but the person in Kate's life that's always had the most influence has always been her father. Would Matt have dared to take her along had he known? Would Alejandro have still held a gun to her head? Would it have _mattered?_ Not mattering is starting to get to her.)

Ignoring her mom’s calls, Kate gets back on her commercial flight to Arizona. It’s not as nice as the private jet she took the last time she flew (the peanuts suck), but the company is better. The drive back from the airport is uneventful, of course. Alejandro told her the land was becoming lawless, but Kate grew up in DC, a true den of wolves. He told her to leave Phoenix, but there isn’t any place where she’ll be able to escape the savagery on the horizon. 

There is no _good_ place, so why go anywhere else? Chandler is her home.

-

-

Only when Kate is home does she permit herself to think of Alejandro, and _only_ in the privacy and safety of her home does she let herself feel the repercussions of trusting him once. Safe, _ha_ ; Alejandro could get to her if she locked herself in a bank vault. A large part of her is still waiting for him to appear like a boogeyman. The hopelessly irrational part of her brain wonders if thinking of him may cause him to appear. Perhaps she’ll wake up and see him by her bedside, with a loaded gun held in a gloved hand. Her body wasn't strong enough to fend off her attackers, but it can instantly recall the feel of hands around her throat and a cold gun barrel under her chin. Her mind wasn’t resourceful enough to rescue her, but it’s certainly strong enough to torment her by ceaselessly reliving those awful moments for _no reason whatsoever_.

Simply put, she is still weak. Shameful relief comes when she remembers there’s no cause for him to finish her off, not anymore. Their lives have no reason to intersect in the future, as long as Kate stays smart about her choices. Without question, it would be best for her if she never sees Alejandro again. But it burns her up, because Kate has questions for the man that beat her so soundly. Why leave her the gun? Why give her a chance to kill him? She could have ended his life and taken that piece of paper off his body and no one ever would have known that she’d caved, at least no one except her. How did he know she wouldn’t shoot him? Did he care? It wasn’t fair that the man who got what he wanted—what he needed—got away clean after doing so many bad things and taking so much from her. Whatever happened to _consequences?_

She is a chess pawn, a means to an end, any subject of a series of idioms about being sacrificed and discarded by greater men for what doesn’t necessarily strike her as the greater good. She recalls how expertly Alejandro broke Ted. It was punishment and art, how he delivered each blow. If it served him in some way, Kate wonders if he would do the same to a woman or a child—if he could do it to her. Could Alejandro hit her and feel her flesh cave and bones break and remain unmoved? If she begged him to stop, would he relent? She wonders how many people he’s tortured for information, how many he’s killed just because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or because he needed to get someone else to talk and exploiting a weakness is just the kind of work he does.

Sometimes, Kate wonders if the illusive Fausto Alarcon had a family. If he did, he doesn’t anymore.

Kate knows this for a fact. Not from reading a report or hearing it through word of mouth, but just by knowing Alejandro. She feels so stupid for trusting him. A part of her would ache to trust him right now if he walked through her door. According to him, Kate reminds him of his family, those poor, butchered souls whose deaths left behind the same kind of man that had them murdered. How can a loving husband and father turn into a cold-blooded killer? Alejandro is like no killer she's ever met. It had taken Kate much longer than usual to determine the kind of man she thought him to be.

It was the aftermath of Ted’s attack that sealed the deal in her mind. Alejandro cared about her. She wasn’t imagining things then and she’s not imagining them now. He came by to check on her and reassure her that the case was moving in the right direction. There couldn’t have been an ulterior motive for what were perhaps the only genuine, tender words she heard on the whole mission. Kate doesn’t think he necessarily meant to tell her that she reminded him of someone very special to him, but he meant it. In his way, he made an effort with her. Of course, she would never be as dear to him as the person she reminded him of, but it felt nice, knowing that he set her apart. She felt like she meant something to a deeply troubled man.

The next morning, Alejandro warmly shook her hand and asked how her neck was and she felt the comforting weight of his palm for a brief moment on her back, a lone source of courtesy and humanity. The wolf dropped a scrap of kindness at her feet, and she mistook it for a morsel. She thought she mattered, that an accidental resemblance made her special somehow.

That night, a plate of metal the width of a chalkboard eraser saved her from dying by his hand. The morning after, it was the loops and whirls of her signature giving credence to a lie.

Kate felt really special then.


	2. Chained to Your History

-  


He’s on her the second Kate hits the ground, holding her down and wrapping his hands around her neck.

But instead of finishing her off, he waits patiently for her panic attack to subside. He hovers above her ribcage, an uncomfortable but not painful weight, and remains silent. The hand around her throat isn’t exerting tremendous pressure, but the grip is firm. Her hands are thrashing uselessly by his face, her fingers skimming his chin but his superior reach prevents her from doing actual harm.

(He doesn’t move to comfort her, just as she asked.) 

He’s left her barely enough room to breathe. Kate taps his arm twice, and he releases her throat. Gulping down air like she’s just run a marathon, she finally sees the room swim back into focus after a few minutes. Scooting backwards to take the pressure off of her torso, he studies her with steely eyes.

“I could ask you a hundred questions right now, but I’ll settle for this one: are you talking to your partner about any of this, whatever it is?”

Kate blinks once, twice. “I’m _fine._ ”

That earns Kate a laugh. It’s harsh, more like a bark. Brent appreciates her sense of humor, always has. 

“If fine means getting your friend to choke you out as a risky and totally improvised form of exposure therapy, then yes, you are _completely_ fine.” 

“There, you said it yourself.”

“You need to talk to someone about all this.”

“Talking is not going to help me. Trust issues, you know?”

“Katy, you asked me to hold a gun to your head an hour ago. That’s a little too much trust to put in someone else, even someone you’ve known for twenty five years. Pretending to strangle you to death is a pretty strange compromise to have to make with someone.” 

It’s tough to heckle someone that’s currently pinning your hips to the mat, but figures it’s worth a shot. “You used to be Seal Team Six. You’re supposed to be a badass.”

“There’s nothing badass about using my abilities to trigger your PTSD. I'm doing this because you _begged_ me to. I went through advanced SERE training to learn how to withstand torture and violence. I’m not qualified to administer it and I didn’t learn anything that might help you recover from it. I hate to say it, but you need a head shrinker.”

At that, Kate _really_ wants him off of her, but to prove a point, he keeps her subdued with ease. When she realizes he won’t budge until she addresses it, she moves to strike him. He feels her muscles bunch and pins her arms. Brent’s face is inches from hers now, and his expression is solemn.

“Katy, _please_ get help.”

“This _is_ help.”

“I’m not a psychiatrist.”

“No, but in a lot of ways you’re not much different than the man who did this to me.”

That might offend most men, but Brent knows the kind of work he does.

“Katy, the kind of man that did this to you won’t stop when you tap out. He'll stop when you’re dead. Even _if_ you manage to stay totally calm the next time I do this—and that’s a big _if_ —you already know I’m not going to hurt you. Once your life is on the line, you’ll be right back where you started.”

“See, you really are a psychiatrist.”

Brent releases her hands in disgust, jumping to his feet. “Jesus, Katy. Take this seriously for a minute.”

“You don’t think I am?”

“Okay, how about ‘approach this realistically’?”

Kate’s sitting up against the wall now, arms crossed. She stares up petulantly at him. “How am I not?”

Oh hell no. “ _Realistically_ , in order to have your back, your partner should be made aware of such things. Why haven’t you mentioned anything to Reggie about how bad this is?”

“…What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Because he should be helping you instead of me,” and yeah, that’s true, to a degree.

“Reggie would never be able to put his hands around my neck like that.”

“And I would. Yeah. Okay, that part makes a little bit of sense. But I can tell you’ve been through some serious shit since the last time I’ve seen you." Brent does a little math in his head and then swears. "Please tell me that Evan didn’t do this to you.”

Kate smiles. She could take down her ex-husband even if he was pointing an assault rifle at her. He wasn’t like the normal guys she went after, so she thought she’d try something different since her normal type wasn’t cutting it. Whoops.

“It wasn’t Evan.”

Brent runs a hand through his short, blond hair. “Is it someone at the bureau?”

“No, he’s not FBI.”

“If Reggie doesn’t know about it, is it work-related?”

About a dozen emotions dance across Kate’s face, and she must know it, because she stubbornly looks away.

“I need a cigarette.” Kate’s willing to kiss a four month long streak without them goodbye if she’s going to have to talk about this.

Brent manages not to sigh. James would have wanted him to take care of his little sister in any way he could. And over the years he definitely has. He just wishes it wasn’t over the really fucked up shit that she generally calls him in for. It’s not like she ever asks him for fashion advice.

“ _Katy._ ”

Kate slowly wilts under his stare. The cigarette will have to wait.

“You _really_ want to know? I did something incredibly stupid.” 

Brent doesn’t say anything. Occasionally, Kate doesn’t make good choices. And sometimes, her way of coping with them is even worse. He vividly remembers the night after her debutante ball, when Kate showed up at his house at three in the morning, crying and bruised; she’d nearly been assaulted by the rich dumbass her parents picked out to escort her there. Instead of looking for a shoulder to cry on, she practically threw herself at him. Brent turned her down, which resulted in one hell of an argument. She wanted a shred of control back, but didn’t stop and think what she was giving up in the process. 

(True exposure therapy takes months or years, and Kate is too impatient for that. Healing takes time. She thinks if she keeps traumatizing herself she’ll get better eventually. That’s not how it works.)

“How stupid are we talking, here, Katy?”

“I had a really bad raid ten months ago. Fucking awful; it even made CNN. I wanted to take down the men responsible, so I volunteered to liaise on a mission with the CIA. We ended up in Juarez. They tortured a prisoner. Later on during the investigation, I was caught on a surveillance camera and almost bought the farm when the cartel sent someone to take care of me. Near the end of the op, Delta Force raided a secret border tunnel to provide a diversion for something. I’m not even sure for what. I just know a lot of people died.”

Pretty much every mission ever Brent’s been sent on has been classified. His pay grade is so far above hers that none of this is fazing him right now, but for an agent like Kate that joined the bureau for some semblance of order, it’s like getting the rug yanked out from under you and landing in the lion’s den. This is not the American way, or at least not the way Kate knows it. There’s no way to sugarcoat the situation.

“I’ve deployed with Delta dozens of times over the years. Jesus, Katy, you were in over your head.”

Kate snorts. “Yeah, I was.”

Brent’s green eyes narrow slightly as they watch her fingers tap against her thigh. “…Would you do it again?”

_Oh_ , and it’s the question Kate has avoided asking herself for almost a year; the question Brent knows to ask it right away. She thinks it very unlikely that Matt would want to team up with her for a second time, but in the end, she gave him what he wanted and proved to be easy to manipulate. A part of her expects to see Alejandro waiting for her around every dark corner with a gun in his hand. Matt calling her up is a lot more likely.

“…I don’t know if I'd do it again," and Kate whispers it like a confession. Brent thinks it's likely the first time she's been able to admit it to herself. "The worst damage I took came from the people that were supposed to be on my side, not the men we were fighting against. Those poor bastards didn’t stand a chance.”

“Katy, what did they do to you?”

Kate tries her best to recite the facts calmly. “I was so angry at them. They broke a lot of laws. They didn’t care about civilian casualties. I threatened to go public. One of the ‘agents’ turned out to be a member of a rival cartel. He—”

Kate lets out a harsh, shuddering breath. It sounds like more than just air escaping. 

“—He held a gun to my head and forced me to sign a waiver stating that everything in their operation was legal. Jesus, it was a bloodbath. I couldn’t stop any of it. And I signed that paper because I was too afraid to die alone in my apartment.”

Brent makes sure his voice is carefully detached, free of judgment. “Why would you even consider going back?”

“Everything they did, even though it all seemed like it was for nothing, was still a lot more important than anything I can do here. And you’re going to think it’s stupid, but I want them to know that they didn’t completely defeat me.”

Surely Kate sees what he sees—someone who is, in no way, any better off. She’s great at faking normalcy (or what passes for normal for her), but deep down, the wounds stay fresh. She’s still fucked up. Her progress is a lie. If she goes out there, they can both guess at the outcome. 

“There’s no proving yourself to guys like that, Katy. You can't win by being _right_.”

_It’s not_ them _I want to prove myself to. Alejandro never said I was a bad agent, he just said that I wasn’t cut out for the work. Isn’t that the same thing? Why can’t I be good for_ something?

“I _have_ to know that what I went through has meaning.”

“Katy, ninety percent of my missions are total shit shows. You’re not going to find a deeper meaning in it than survival. You made the right choice to live for another day. That counts for more than you think.”

“I’m a coward.”

“Bravery doesn’t serve a purpose when you’re dead.”

“I want to stand for something!" Kate covers her mouth; she doesn't normally raise her voice unless she's in a combat situation. "I don’t want to be like Dad.”

Brent laughs. “You’d have to sign an executive order to bomb a town full of animal shelters and orphanages to reach that level, Katy.”

Kate smiles, “Ha, as far as we know, he's already done that.”

After a comfortable silence, Brent gives her a speculative look. He sits across from her for a moment, close enough to easily touch her but not too close within her personal space. Raising a hand experimentally, Brent gently lays his palm against her neck. Kate’s sitting up, not prone, so her interpretation of the event is totally different that what he suspects set her off before. She doesn’t really react besides tilting her chin, but she’s a little confused.

In a heartbeat, Brent takes her to the floor, shifting and tightening his grip on her. Kate screams and shakes, but she doesn’t cry. She makes no attempt to throw him off or hurt him. She’s always had a worrying lack of boundaries with him, and a part of him has always wondered if there is a limit to what she’d let him do. He’s definitely the wrong person for this; their history together is what makes it _impossible_ for him to be the one to help. He's not really sure if anyone _can_.

Throughout Kate's life, the people who have hurt her worst are the ones she lets get away with the most. It’s one of the most troubling things about her. She lets them keep hurting and taking because she tells herself that next time will be different; she'll make sure of it. 

(It’s usually not.) 

She might not let the man who held a gun to her head get away with that again, but then again, she just might. She’d probably let him do pretty much anything to her in a futile effort to prove her mettle. It's always about proof.

“Who choked you out, Kate? Is it the same guy that held a gun to you?”

Her eyes are squeezed shut, likely damming a flood of tears, but she furiously shakes her head no. Careful to not make any sudden movements, he slowly eases himself off and sits next to her.

“Was it a member of Delta Force?”

Kate shakes her head no again. She cracks her eyes open but can’t meet his gaze. 

“The guy leading the op threw me down and held me there when we argued, but he didn’t wrap his hands around my neck. It was a crooked cop; he was on the cartel’s payroll. I met him when I was out with Reggie and I tried to hook up with him. The first guy I go for after Evan and he almost murders me with his bare hands in my own apartment.” 

(That makes Brent feel immense sadness. Kate keeps trying to prove herself to the world when it should be the other way around; the world needs to prove itself to _her_. She suffers and bleeds for the world to be a better place, but the rate she’s going, she’ll never make it there. Every time she tries to do something for herself along the way, it comes back to bite her. Hard.)

“I realized what he was there to do eventually when he made a stupid mistake. There was a struggle. I never make the right call about people. The funny thing was that the guy that saved my life was the one that held the gun to my head later.”

“Funny” sure is debatable, but Kate’s laughing hysterically. Tears are streaming down her face. She’s going to be exhausted and sick and sore later. If she were any other girl, Brent would haul her into his arms and hold her, but Kate’s going to be just fine with rocking back and forth on the mat while he sits and observes her silently. Brent reaches into his gym bag and pulls out a mostly-unwrinkled tissue. She crumples it in her hand and finally accepts the comfort of his touch as he rubs circles on her back. 

“You already know that nothing I can do for you will make you as strong as any trained male opponent you face. Don’t ever let it get that far—don’t let someone push you to the ground and choke the life out of you. Take that step I know you don't like to take. Shoot first.”

With sudden clarity, Kate remembers Alejandro telling her she should have shot Ted. She stills beneath Brent's hand, and only when she relaxes again does he continue speaking. 

“I can’t stop you from going back out there. But you might break again. Eventually, there won’t be anything left for you to rebuild with. Don’t confuse strength with being desensitized. People that go out there time and time again are often not human by the time they stop. You don’t want that.”

Kate nods tearfully. Her back is still to him, but he doesn’t need to see her face to know. 

In a few more months, he’ll get another call, or maybe he won’t, but she’ll be back in the darkness she crawled out from.


	3. If I Catch Your Eye I'll Turn to Stone

  
-  
Theoretically, Alejandro knows that killing another man’s family shouldn’t make him feel any better.  
  
It doesn’t.  
  
But it doesn’t make him feel any worse. He fires off three lightning quick rounds, takes from one man what that man took from him, and is not remotely moved by what he’s done. There’s no relief or catharsis. They’re here one minute, gone the next, much like his own family. Ending the life he’s dreamed of ending for over ten years holds no real, far-reaching consequences. No doubt another ten underlings are waiting in the wings for this chance.  
  
Alejandro walks away from the carnage this war has wrought unaffected this time.  
  
Yet the next day, in a modest dwelling in Chandler, not much bigger than a walk-in closet, he becomes reacquainted with emotions that have lain mostly dormant for as long as he can remember. Kate, the mission necessity he never wanted—the obstacle he never foresaw—throws herself in his path like a bird with a broken wing. She wants answers and justice and guidance and maybe just a sliver of humanity from him. She has no way of knowing that she’s asking for too much.  
  
The ocean blue rings of her irises look nothing like his wife’s did, because Kate’s eyes always looks worried and sad. She leads a life where happiness is hard to come by. At best, Kate can almost pass for pretty, or she might if perhaps she had something to smile about. There’s an unnamable quality about her—something that makes him unable to tear his eyes away from her in her vulnerability. She is tempting to men like him, hunters that stalk prey. Her distress is _irresistible_.  
  
Alejandro is too accustomed to seeing beautiful things destroyed. He never feels bad about it until now. And Kate, the vision of fledgling strength and naiveté and failure, falls by his hand. Ruthlessly cut down and unapologetically dismantled, Kate should wilt and dissolve. He graciously leaves her with more than he was left with. It should be enough for her to get her act together.  
  
(Kate’s not good at doing the things she should. Alejandro can’t honestly say he expected her to leave, but her blatant disregard for her own safety is maddening.)  
  
It’s not keeping tabs or checking in. That’s time and effort and a paper trail. But he makes sure if something happened to her, he’d know. And for the longest time, nothing does. She returns to work. There’s no fallout from the mission, so she mustn’t put up any kind of fuss. He doesn’t think about her every day or even every week, but he thinks about her more than he should.  
  
After all, she’s merely a woman he knew once.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
Eight months have gone by until he lays eyes on Kate. She’s been summoned to the capital to testify. Matt doesn’t expect any trouble (and neither does Alejandro), but they’re both there nonetheless. It’s a formality. Kate never sees them, but Alejandro certainly sees her. She’s dressed professionally but austerely. Social conventions dictate she don heels and makeup (she wears the minimum to skirt by) and looks exactly like a female FBI agent used to dressing down and being forced to dress up would.  
  
She doesn’t even get to open her mouth. Helplessly, Kate stares at the senator that railroads her and _finally_ he can see her mentally put this whole case to rest. This hearing was her last hope and it dies an ignoble death. Her eyes narrow but she doesn’t outwardly betray the intense feelings he knows she’s working hard to suppress.  
  
Her outdated suit practically hangs off her body, her thin frame severe like a stalk of wheat. She’s too thin, Alejandro thinks for not the first time. Her hair is getting longer and blonder, highlights painted by the Arizona sun. Her unremarkable shoes wear marks into the ground as she paces outside. She’s nodding on the phone to someone—probably Reggie—and he watches her slim hands twitch and ache for a cigarette.  
  
Too far away to make out the actual words, he contents himself to watch Kate eventually end her call and shove her phone in her bag. He watches the way she rolls her shoulders back and sighs. She straightens up, and for a second he would swear she sees him, blue eyes suddenly wide and distressed. His imagination doesn’t normally play tricks, so he is simultaneously disappointed and relieved when she looks away.  
  
She goes back where she came from. At least she still has that.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
Sometimes Alejandro isn’t sure what he considers Matt. The term “friend” does not quite ring true. “Coworker” is too casual and inadequate a label. “Partner” might be a little closer, but this is hardly the traditional business venture. After so many years together, Matt knows all about Alejandro’s former life. Alejandro doesn’t really have any secrets in his past that haven’t been crafted into legend. He’s a ghost—a former man who used to have everything and had it all taken away. Now he does this to other men.  
  
The nice thing about Matt is that he doesn’t judge him for inadvertently getting his family killed, just as Alejandro doesn’t judge Matt for having three ex-wives and five estranged children. The irony is that both men put their jobs first and it cost them their families. Sometimes it really feels like a bullshit line of work; they can’t get recognition for it, nor do they ever gain a sense of fulfillment or accomplishment. They empty their guns and their souls and nothing ever _stops_.  
  
They don’t talk about the mission. They don’t talk about _any_ mission. When he hands over the waiver, Matt couldn’t care less how he got it. As far as the operation goes, it’s a success: no American lives lost. Everyone got what they wanted out of it, except for Kate and her sidecar, Reggie. The task complete, Alejandro has no reason to keep traveling down this dark road. And yet, after losing so much, it’s all he has.  
  
He still can’t stop. Neither does Matt. They don’t quite share a common goal anymore, at least not one with such a narrow scope, but the idea of endless days to fill means Alejandro’s entirely open to continuing the only way of life he’s known for over ten years. Revenge didn’t leave enough behind to start over. What he was going to do afterwards wasn’t a luxury he could afford to think about.  
  
And nothing he does can make him feel anything. There are twinges and aches, phantom pains of his former life. But those faint echoes remind him how empty he is now. Those scraps taunt him and hollow out his core. Because he doesn’t have the means to regain any semblance of what he’s lost; he can’t just go out and get another family. Men in similar positions to him successfully rebuild, but he just _can't_.  
  
It takes emotional investment—something he’s not sure he can even _do_. To him, a wife is not just a warm body to fall asleep next to at night. It’s a woman he wants to spend his life with, grow old with. A woman he wants to raise children with. And it’s not just an adorable face to ship off to school every morning, it’s a child to mold into a happy, healthy, contributing member of society—a legacy, even.  
  
For many years, Alejandro assumed he’d lead a solitary life—just him and his work. He wasn’t a monk but he was not a weak-willed man willing to settle for just any woman because it was convenient or conventional. Meeting Valentina was the catalyst for wanting to start a family, and only because she was such an exceptional woman. Alejandro is too tired to consider this—to desire all this again. These aren’t feelings that he can muster up because he wants to.  
  
He thinks that Kate might have children someday—little miniatures to wander the earth with bright blue eyes and thin wrists and bleeding hearts. He thinks that Kate would be a fine, dedicated mother to them—her sense of responsibility wouldn’t let her be anything less. He wonders if they’ll be like her, or whatever man she manages to have them with. Matt told him she was divorced.  
  
(Plenty of men can leave Kate Macer—but only the best want to stay. Reggie is a good man, which is why he stuck around to go through hell with her.)  
  
(Alejandro is not a good man. Maybe he never was. He wonders if the underworld overtook him so easily merely because nothing had tilted his world over far enough to shake his evil loose. He wonders how long the potential lay dormant inside him.)  
  
And this is why his life limps on for him, much as it has for the past ten, long years. The edge of the darkness has faded to monotonous gray. He’s careful to maintain his training and fitness, but they are rituals he keeps for logical reasons. He doesn’t leave his enemies standing, but he’s living proof that taking a life can have far-reaching consequences. He’s doubtless left behind countless widows and orphans. He’s certain that they could be just as cunning and patient as he.  
  
Having nothing to live for is very different than wanting to die.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
It occurs to Alejandro after seeing her in Washington, D.C., that Kate must want lots of things.  
  
Kate must yearn for someone to recognize her pain. She must crave recognition for what she went through. She is a woman that goes through life _wanting_. But instead of diminishing, disappointment only makes her gleam brighter, a bright and blazing star. She is a shining beacon of misery, drawing in others that have likewise failed and lost and suffered. If he isn’t careful, she’ll be the broken lighthouse that draws him in to crash on her shores.  
  
It’s her response, and the response of people like her, that validate men like him. When the things that make him human start falling away, the ability to hurt others never does. A part of him likes to see the pain. A part of him hates to see it. A part of him wonders if he could ever make up for what he’s done—undo the damage he’s caused. And it’s the tiniest, most pathetic thing to want.  
  
But he does finally want something.  
  
…Except it’s quite possibly the most _impossible_ thing to wish for, whatever it is. Forgiveness? Redemption? A second chance at happiness? He's far too undeserving. Even in his selfishness, he wants better for her.  
  
Kate is a glass jar he’s smashed to the ground. He’s stepped through the pieces and tracked them through the parking lot when he walked away from her. His specialty is damage, and he’s outdone himself this time. He’s felt her tremble and shake beneath him, and not in the usual way he likes to see women come undone. He went too far, much farther than he had to, because he could and because he _wanted_ to.  
  
It wasn’t totally born from a desire to hurt her, but he just had to see her react to him, to reaffirm that he was still alive and able to feel. Alejandro wants—he _finally_ wants—but he doesn’t know how to get it. Regardless, this isn’t something that guns, convoys, and Kevlar can get him (although if he gets anywhere near Kate again he might need the latter). Kate is not an avatar to humanity that he can live vicariously through. He knows that. It isn’t fair to use her like that—to dream of it—after everything he’s done to her, yet he doesn’t see another way.  
  
He thought this was over. But beautiful and reckless and innocent and helpless Kate starts to intrude upon his thoughts. He occasionally fantasizes about her looking at him with something other than betrayal and fear and hurt in her eyes. It’s foolish, he knows, to think about a woman he’ll never see again. He spent over a decade thinking of his wife—what she would do or say in a given situation, all the milestones they missed, things he never had a chance to tell her or do for her because he always thought he had more time.  
  
All he has now is time. He doesn’t have his family anymore.  
  
But he has Kate.  
  
And he has Kate the way he wakes up to sunshine and fresh air. There’s no meaningful interaction and he’s certainly not entitled to ownership, but he benefits nonetheless. He knows she’s out there somewhere. He doesn’t know what she’s doing, but whatever she’s feeling, it’s probably his fault, because Kate has _him_ the way a sword has a blacksmith. She is a blade that’s suffered and been clumsily remade by uncaring hands. He wasn’t paying close enough attention to the final creation, only to find he’s made her sharp enough to cut him.  
  
Kate, the weapon and the woman, cannot hurt him unless they cross paths.  
  
And for many months, they do not. He’s so very careful to keep her away.  
  
-  
  
-  
  
Life does not ever go the way Alejandro plans.  
  
One day he will finally realize that.


	4. No One Can Make You Do What You Do

-

At six, Kate takes ballet like every other six-year-old girl from money. 

At twelve, Kate is Level 7 in the Washington School of Ballet. 

At eighteen, Kate studies ballet professionally. Despite her mother's wish that she attend Juilliard, she picks a lesser-known New York performing arts university. Any school will do when the goal is just to get _away_. She graduates and is poised to become a soloist with the New York City Ballet Company.

She doesn’t expect it, but something changes when Kate’s away from DC. Dancing provided an escape during a time when she was too old to play dumb about all the strife happening around her at home but too young to legally leave it. She’s too talented to stay unnoticed, and all the drama within the dance company—something she was able to block out previously—swims into painful awareness. Everyone is now interested in her personal life, in the reasons behind her decisions. Recognition of her talent is accompanied by all this _attention_ , the very thing she’s always trying to escape.

Kate can put on a great show—a spectacular one—and when she can concentrate on that, she doesn’t have to think so hard about why she needs to convince other people of something before herself. But in order to do so, she has to know what’s expected of her. Dancing is the easy part. She gets to act, not react, and despite all the rules and techniques, it’s as free as she ever allows herself to feel. But now she has professionals inquiring about her career, younger dancers asking for tips, publications alluding to interviews and photo shoots and even product endorsements. This isn’t how Kate wants to spend her life; she’s not equipped to provide answers or guidance for others. She came out here so other people could do the thinking for her, so she could be _led_.

Kate may outgrow dancing, but she doesn’t outgrow running from her problems; she just finds a new, better way. Her looks helped get her into this, so the first thing Kate does is toss out her makeup. She donates a closet full of Cole Haan, J. Crew, and Kate Spade and thousands of dollars worth of designer dance clothes. She chops off her waist-length hair (and her grown-out highlights) and enrolls at the Academy in Quantico. She’ll be the hero in someone else’s story, because her own is turning into an autobiography that she doesn’t know how to write. 

It simultaneously makes perfect sense and zero sense that she picks the FBI.

It's the last career her parents would have ever wanted for her. Kate was never granted emancipation as a minor due to her father's influence, but he never forgot what she put him through trying to get it. He does his part to ensure no one can connect them, which suits her just fine, and a common surname doesn’t mean a whole lot to most people that don’t care to look deeper. Conversely, Dave and Marina are pleased with her choice. They present Kate with her first handgun. Dave corrects all the weird quirks in her stance that over a dozen years of ballet have bestowed on her and drills into her mind the importance of safety. Kate’s not stupid, but if she accidentally hurts someone she’ll never forgive herself. 

Dave just knows her. He can predict what she’ll like and what she’ll be good at. He’s good at identifying things like that—things that Kate never thought anyone would be able to intuit because Lord knows she can barely guess these things herself. But the best part about Dave is that he never tries to sway her in any particular direction. He shows her a path but it’s up to her if she walks it. There’s no judgment for her choice, but he makes her see it through once she’s committed. 

_That night I met Matt in Phoenix was the first time I ever knew what decision Dave wanted me to make, and I blew it. He must have known I couldn’t handle it._

That bit of knowledge really smarts. The person that knows her best and has the most faith in her abilities foresaw her failure. Dave was never her confidant, but he _is_ her mentor. She’s let him down terribly. It’s another priceless thing in her life that she’s managed to alter irrevocably, just like her friendship with Reggie. They both look at her like she’s not the same person they’ve always known—and that’s true—but also like she’s a person they’re not sure if they still want to. They’re smart enough to guess at why she signed that waiver, because they’re maybe the only two men that she knows that would die first before signing.

It's a stroke of brilliance on Alejandro’s part to make her sign. It _breaks_ her. A forged signature can be proven by a handwriting expert. Kate would _know_ that the name on that paper wasn’t her own; she could testify to that and it would be the truth. It would give her courage and power and righteousness to go public in a way that Matt could never walk away from. But Kate signs, because she's a coward that's afraid to die alone without anyone ever knowing the truth—because _someone_ out there would actually believe she committed suicide and if Kate's going to die, it's not going to be like that, and fuck anyone that would think otherwise. Redemption isn't a concept Kate really puts stock in, but rebuilding from the ground up is, and maybe they're the same thing.

A big believer of knowing her physical limits ever since she was a young girl, Kate surely tries. No matter how much she trains, she’ll never be strong enough to fight aggressively against an opponent the size of say, Ted. Matt is not especially large and she was helpless against him too. His lack of anything resembling compassion or humanity or a fucking soul would have astonished her had she not experienced it firsthand. He is not merely physical strength, though; Matt is clever and manipulative and _menacing_. 

Kate does not delude herself into thinking that she has the means to match the ruthless methods of Alejandro on _any_ level.

Sometimes, Kate dreams. If she was built like Brent and had his training and control, she’d be invincible, because she’d finally have no more excuses to hide behind—no more too small, too obedient, too scared—and just fucking get everything done, period. People like Brent don’t pay consequences and neither do people like Alejandro. Men that don’t acknowledge rules cannot be limited by them. They go out there and they _know what to do_. They’re not burdened by indecision or sentiment. They don't make mistakes or feel guilt. They certainly don't get punished.

(Kate’s always longed to live without fear, but to her, that means existing without anything to live for. There’s always something to lose. This is not a bad thing.)

Kate’s never been so thoroughly outmatched before. She still can’t wrap her head around it. She’s FBI, for fuck’s sake; she’s not in preschool. And these CIA and Black Ops assholes march in and treat her like garbage. At least it’s not because she’s a woman this time—she’s already been through that whole song and dance—but it still makes her burn. 

The fury at her helplessness has no productive outlet. She used to channel it into her ballet routines. It’s been years since she’s made an effort to dance with any degree of serious effort, but her muscles have not forgotten. She wants her emotions to stop making her do things that scare and hurt her, because when she dances, they can just be fuel and inspiration for movement, not ruin. 

In her eagerness (and masochism) to regain some control, she pushes herself too hard through an advanced routine and hurts herself within half an hour. It’s so stupid, she knows, to rush back into ballet, but not even half a bottle of Scotch so effectively wipes her mind clean. Kate wants that sweet, blank feeling rolling around in her brain and recklessly fumbles for that off switch, and when she botches her landing, her slender hands clench helplessly around her throbbing ankle as she curls her body against the cold gym floor. The pain is still preferable to the guilt, fear, and self-hatred she's used to wallowing in, but so familiar that she finds herself standing and straightening back up without realizing it. Impatient as she is, Kate knows she has to wait until her rage has cooled down to embers before she makes another attempt. Ballet class taught her something very important: the proper technique ensures you don’t get hurt. Kate has always applied this training to her life: 

Pursue the career you’ve always wanted, and when it disappoints you, try not to be a disappointment too. Love your husband enough so that he marries you, but not enough that you’ll fall apart when he leaves. Be a mentor to your partner but give him up when you realize he deserves better instead of trying to be better for him. Seek a human connection on a mission where everyone else is devoid of humanity and don’t let his gun hit you on the way out. Caring in general is a bad idea. Step back, Macer, before you get hurt.

You will get hurt.

-  


-

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyebrows.”

“Sure.” 

_“Reggie.”_

“It’s been awhile now—almost a year and a half since Evan.”

Kate hates that on the timeline of her life, Juarez is the latest big event and resents that nothing else noteworthy has happened since then, as if her trajectory has already peaked and it’s only downhill from there. She hates that within the eighteen months she’d known Reggie before Juarez—he’d seen her get married— _and_ divorced. In the year he’s known her since, she hasn’t gone on any dates or kissed anyone or had any desire to jump a man’s bones.

That is…unusual. 

It makes sense, of course, given what happened last time. And Reggie doesn’t normally push her too much. But Reggie’s got a vivid imagination (especially for someone who studied law) and foresees her sitting all alone in the same apartment fifty years from now surrounded by cats and crocheting sweaters for Norah’s grandchildren. 

(Kate is slightly allergic to cats and can’t crochet worth a damn, but Reggie’s probably got a point in there somewhere. Kate is still waiting for her life to start back up properly. Thirteen months have gone by without any sign from Matt; maybe she really is _that_ forgettable. ) 

“C’mon, Kate, you’ve always commented about the new recruits, something dumb like, ‘I’m going to climb him like a tree’ or some shit, and now there’s none of that. And I know you always consider them off limits, but you’re not _blind_.”

“The last guy I tried to have sex with nearly killed me. And that’s still not your fault, by the way, but it kinda turned me off for the foreseeable future or maybe forever.”

“Kate, statistically speaking, a hitman trying to kill you during sex should not happen to you again.”

“If anyone can have the deck stacked against them, it’s me.”

“Well,” and Reggie gives her a merciless once-over, “if anyone is attracted to you in that bacon-neck tee shirt, that might be the first sign that something’s wrong.”

“Everyone’s necklines wrinkle like this eventually.”

“Kate, when you’ve washed something so many times that its hems are curling up in protest, you need some new shirts.”

Okay, so maybe her wardrobe staples are looking a little careworn. Reggie wears functional clothing but still retains a sense of style. Reggie’s just better at a lot of things (or everything). 

“Now Kate, I was at your wedding, even though I barely knew you at the time. You clean up pretty well. I’m convinced you actively take steps to look as plain as possible at work, and I get why you do. But maybe when you’re not at work you should act like it. And I’m not just talking about your looks.”

Kate knows Reggie would never stage a full-on intervention unless he found her passed out naked with a bottle in her hand, but he’s concerned. He doesn’t hover or nag, but he lets her know. His gentle rebukes are generally more meaningful than said interventions. The fact he still cares about her really means something, and she can make a few confessions to ease his worry.

“You’re going to sign me up for Tinder, aren’t you?”

Reggie claps her on the shoulder and Kate rolls her eyes. She had to have the concept of swiping left and right explained to her when someone mentioned the app to her months ago. And any kind of app based on appearances is going to be rendered moot once she gets asked about her job and opens her mouth. Most men can’t handle hearing about a woman kicking down doors and shooting down kidnappers and drug dealers. It leads to all kinds of misconceptions about her personality and sexuality that take way too much effort to debunk. 

The old Kate would say, “Make your assumptions and be damned.” 

The new Kate is too tired to dismantle and reconstruct them. 

Kate downloads the app to keep Reggie quiet. She never follows up on anything and it never goes anywhere, but Reggie doesn’t need to know that. When he asks her about it, she smirks and waves her phone and doesn’t elaborate. And if Reggie sees through it, he still smiles and lets the illusion persist. The broken creature that crawled back from Juarez has the strength to pretend again. It’s easy to imagine that this is actual progress.

A year ago, Reggie would have joked that Dave is breaking up the band. Kate and Reggie are bros; they have a reputation as bffs throughout the Phoenix branch. But professionally they’re more Lennon-McCartney now than Daft Punk, and something’s got to give. It makes sense. There’s a promotion for Kate, since she’s been in position longest and a promotion for Reggie, because he deserves it too. Reggie’s stepping into Kate’s former role, while Kate…

Kate’s going to work some cases—build cases. And she can obey the law whilst doing it. She should be ecstatic. She’s gratified, certainly. Forging a legitimate career is something she’s wanted since she was a little girl. Power doesn’t entice her unless it is hard-won and won fairly—fighting the good fight, and all that. This new position lets her see the job through from start to finish. She feels a sense of accomplishment, finally.

Reggie’s new partner, Erin, is dynamite. Her list of scholarships at Ivy League schools and awards is a recruiter’s dream girl. She’s stacked and red-headed and distracting in a way that Kate has promised to never be on the job, so eager to please and so painfully naïve that Kate wonders if she’d have lasted thirty seconds in that tunnel. Or maybe she’d have gone in and knocked off everybody’s socks the way Kate could have; Erin’s sure of herself for all that she knows nothing of how the world works.

(A part of Kate wants to make fun of how Erin wears full face makeup to the gym, but she’s just so darned nice that Kate can’t bring herself to hold it against her, except maybe for the false eyelashes she wears every day unless there's raid.)

With Reggie, friendship fell into place because they were assigned as partners. With Brent, it happened because he was her brother’s best friend growing up. With Norah, it was because they had class together every day. But Erin works to make this friendship thing happen, because getting to know her new partner’s bestie is somehow important to her. If it were anyone else but Black Widow (and Kate’s gotta stop referring to her as that, even in the privacy of her brain) trying to ingratiate herself like this, Kate would call bullshit, but this girl Erin is living proof that good things still exist.

So Kate tries back. And it doesn’t blow up in her face. Erin makes her buy some new bras and tries to set her up with a cousin that lives in Sacramento, but Kate just politely declines and it's somehow a choice without horrifying, apocalyptic consequences for once. Kate makes a new friend and solves her first case (not too easy, not too hard) and accomplishment creeps back into her life. 

(She still has no interest in a date or sex and tries not to think about what this means and when this aversion will stop, but once again, she’s careful not to think about it often, if at all.)

Brent’s given her plenty of advice before he fucks off to parts unknown. Kate doesn’t pretend to approve of what he does—whatever it is—but they promised each other back when they were teenagers that they would try not to judge each other after everything that happened. As long as his missions don’t erase the man Kate grew up with, she can live with that. 

She’s careful that her caseload doesn’t change her too much, but she is so, _so_ different than she was. She lives life like she’s waiting for it to all come crashing down, which makes her appreciate things more. But living under the blight of her fear is taxing. Kate's always perceived that her path in life has always been a little harder for her than other people's. She doesn't complain about it—after all, it must somehow be her fault. Kate's eyes are haunted when she's not careful, and when she glimpses her reflection in the mirror, she’s surprised by the strain she sees there. She’s not sure if she could weather another go-around in Juarez. 

She glimpses Matt in Dave’s office, once. Kate makes sure they don’t see her. They look like they’re in disagreement over something, but Kate has no idea what it could be about. Dave is resigned about his perceived lack of power, and maybe still a little disappointed with her for going out there and not thinking it through. Maybe he thinks he should have prepared her better. Maybe he thinks she should be better, by now: stronger, smarter, normal. After all, a year is a long time.

Dave looks old, Kate realizes for the first time. She’s known him since she was eight and he aged so gradually that she’s never noticed it until now. It’s not a comforting thought. Kate thinks that normal people must have this revelation about their own parents, but she took off well before her parents approached anything resembling “old.” 

Kate finds herself in his office later that day, thankfully for reasons that have nothing to do with Matt. She's going over case details with him (she actually has to testify in court now. Weird.) The exhaustion she saw earlier in his face is still present, but layered in with fondness she hasn't allowed herself to see in his gaze for thirteen months. They've never talked about what happened, and sometimes Kate wonders whose fault that is—if there's any blame to be had she hadn't spoken up to preserve the illusion that she was fine and he hadn't asked out of fear of making it worse for her by putting it out there and making it all _real_ again. 

"Kate, Jake is actually going to make it back in time for Christmas this year," Dave informs her. "Norah doesn't know yet—I think he wants to surprise her and the girls. But I know he'd love to see you for Christmas Eve. Marina and I would love to have you, too."

Dave had invited her last year, as he always did. And he had fully expected her to decline, and she had. But now there's a little more hope in his voice, a slight smile at the corners of his mouth, and Kate smiles and leans back in her chair. She barely hears herself ask about Jake's arrival stateside and about plans for Christmas dinner. Next to her promotion, this conversation is another brick she's placing for her new foundation. This isn't lying about going on Tinder or buying a bra that isn't white or hitting up the bar scene again with Reggie. This is progress—real progress. She will not let Matt or the ghost of Alejandro tear it down.


	5. That's an Issue But I'm Okay

-  


For the first time in her life, Kate really _thinks_ about Christmas. She hasn't looked forward to the holiday, like, ever, so it's weird to view it with something other than dread. She's received plenty of gifts in her life that she's indifferent to—gifts a normal person would be excited about. Diamond bracelets, Chanel clutches, and Louboutin heels, all from Evan and all so deeply impersonal and impractical for her that she had to hide that she'd taken offense to them. Maybe they were supposed to be a complement to vacations he could never convince her to take or a lure away from the job that he hated that she had. Evan made enough money for both of them and the second those dreaded words, "but you don't _have_ to work," crossed his lips, she was seeing an attorney about a divorce. 

Kate likes giving thoughtful, practical gifts—things with use. It may be boring as hell but she's been taking Reggie's car to get inspected for Christmas for the past three years. The man is not shy about razzing her and the fact he hasn't complained yet definitely mean he's appreciative. Jake and Norah always get fancy nerd swag (Kate prefers not to examine why they feel the need to have uniforms from the original series of Star Trek) but it's always goofy stuff they both want and are too embarrassed to buy for themselves because they're grown ass adults with three children. Dave and Marina get concert tickets—the high-end Paul McCartney/Rolling Stones/Eagles shows that make them feel like they're in their twenties again and meeting fresh out of grad school. (Erin's going to get something impulsive Kate spots at the mall, but Erin _likes_ fluffy gifts like that. She's absurdly easy to please and Kate's not going to look that gift horse in the mouth.)

Kate _gets_ gift-giving. She's _awesome_ at it. She's never been able to find anyone that could get her something half as cool as she gets them, but she's been faking not being disappointed since early childhood. She accepts that she'll never be the recipient of a life-changing and awe-inspiring gift, just one of many things in life that will never be hers. Kate never stops hoping that one day she'll get something that truly moves her, but at this point, she's content with the fact that there are people in her life that tolerate her to the extent they can exchange gifts without it being totally forced. Watching Jake and Norah's kids open Frozen toys is much more satisfying that watching your alcoholic absentee mom struggle to open packages because her hands can't stop shaking.

But there's a little apprehension this year for Kate. She knows everyone's going to like what she gets them—she _never_ worries about that. But it's the burden of appearance, the one she struggles with as her ability to compartmentalize has slowly bled away and bled her dry. She's still not sure if she's okay or if she'll ever be. She still hates the new person she is, but that's all she has, a fractured sense of self. Kate just wants to make sure she seems normal so that people stop worrying. 

So that _she_ can stop worrying.

Christmas with the Jennings family is kind of like a test, more rigorous and important than marinating in a case at work and being shunted off to the side while she works her way through protocol and legalese. Dave was right to promote her. The role soothes many parts of her flayed raw. It can't curb the restlessness, but she feels lawful and _good_ again, like she never questioned doing the right thing and failed to deliver. Dave smiles at her again around the office, something she never thought she'd see again, but only Reggie knows how close Kate is to Dave's family—favoritism rumors are something neither Dave nor Kate wants to deal with, so they are strictly professional at work. 

But Erin has kindly helped her pick out a dress for that evening, so maybe Kate can start trusting her with a little bit more. It was kind of fun to go shopping, even though Kate has no idea why Erin insists that white t-shirt bras do not go with everything—because they _do_. A trip to Victoria's Secret ensures Kate spends more money on bras than she has in her entire life, ever, and hopes that this concession means that her friends and coworkers are finally buying it. She has such a nice time with Erin that she decides to take a chance. And once again, Kate can predict nothing. 

-

-

There’s no reason for Kate’s friends not to meet each other eventually, at least not when her circle of friends is small enough to fit inside the circumference of a hula hoop, and that’s how Kate, Reggie, and Erin wind up at a bar after picking up Jake from the airport. The place is packed with people, who like Jake, are home visiting family, and everyone has to practically shout to be heard. The best part about Jake is that he doesn’t get angry or embarrassed, even though Kate is mercilessly teasing him about his love of Doctor Who. He pretends to be mad, but he preens under the attention, even if that attention pins him to a bar stool with his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Martha was born an entire month before they said Freema Agyeman was portraying Martha Jones!”

“What about Amy?”

“Amy was born two weeks before it came out that Karen Gillan was playing Amy Pond.”

“Clara?”

“Clara was named the day they announced Jenna Coleman, but Norah and I already decided before the casting was public. The ink was dry on that birth certificate, I swear.”

Kate rolls her eyes and Jake makes a noise of exaggerated outrage. “Still a weird coincidence for a man so obsessed with The Doctor that he got a TARDIS tattoo the day he turned eighteen and earned a medical degree so that people would call him ‘Doctor’.” 

“You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone that!” Jake exclaims, clutching his pearls while Reggie hides his laugh behind a pilsner glass. Erin giggles (yes, giggles) adorably and Kate blesses Jake with one of her barely-there smiles. He pretends to scowl at her for show but quickly reverts to his ever-present smile.

With his slim build, blue eyes, and brown hair, Jake looks more like Kate’s brother than her actual one ever did. He still sasses her about bring raised by an honest-to-gosh British nanny, even if that British nanny was his mum. Kate wants to tease him for drinking wine at a bar, but Erin’s mixed drink is rimmed in hot pink sugar and garnished with a glitter umbrella and Kate predicts a barrage of insults against her cheap IPA in retaliation.

“Kate said that you met your wife through her,” Erin pipes up; she already knows this from meeting Norah last month, but she loves romantic meet cute stories. It's _so_ much better than the story about how Kate met Evan through Jake, so she'll take this one, sure.

“Yeah, I saw Norah at Kate’s fourteenth birthday party but I was too scared to introduce myself. Norah was so beautiful and I was such a berk. I didn’t think I stood a chance. She approached me to ask about a patch on my rucksack but I kind of panicked and fell over and the VHS tapes I was using to tape Star Trek off the telly fell out. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment until Norah told me she wanted to study childhood development in college because she saw the episode ‘Miri’ when she was eight.”

“Nerd match made in heaven,” Erin says wryly, but she sighs dreamily. 

“Norah’s gotta be the hottest nerd to walk the face of the Earth,” Reggie muses. “Unless she’s one of those fake girl nerds the internet hates so much.”

Kate facepalms. “I was the third wheel on their first date. I can honestly say after listening to two eighth graders talk for _five hours_ about the original series of Star Trek and how attractive they found that trait in a prospective partner, they are both one hundred percent actual nerds.” 

“Five hours?”

“Oh yeah,” Kate relays this like an old war story. “They went on an episode-by-episode discussion and I only made it halfway through season one before I had to tap out.”

“You missed some of the best episodes, Katy.”

“After being forced to marathon the whole show with you during a summer break in college, I beg to differ.”

Erin frowns. “So is the original series anything like the new ones with Chris Pine?”

Reggie makes panicked eye contact with Kate before both of them turn to stare in horror at Jake preparing a response. Erin’s question is innocent, but since she doesn’t want to talk about Star Trek for the next rest of her life, Kate discreetly flags down their server even though none of them know what they want to eat yet because they haven’t even cracked open their late-night menus. Hell, it had taken them fifteen minutes to decide on their drinks.

“So do you feel guilty for coming out with us tonight when Norah doesn’t even know you’re home?” Kate asks him after their waitress huffs away. Two dollars and eighty three cents an hour isn’t exactly making it up to her for having to deal with their indecisive asses. 

“My flight got back so late that I would have kept the girls up all night. I know school is out until after New Year’s, but they’re going to spend the day with Marina’s parents so I didn’t want them tired and distracted. I still need to buy them gifts, too. I was going to wait until tomorrow night so I’m not empty handed.”

“Did you get something for Norah while you were away?” Erin asked. 

A snarky, ugly part of Kate nearly retorts that Norah’s probably not going to want a refugee child for Christmas, but there’s no way Erin really grasps the reality of the work that Jake does as a doctor in the less developed areas of Africa and occasionally the Middle East. She’s not really sure she does, either. He travels abroad to help other people who have less than nothing, and he does it when he has so much to lose back home. Kate throws herself in harm’s way but has no husband and children to mourn her if she dies—no husband or children to get revenge if she does.

“One of my friend’s wives from uni does custom jewelry making, so I’m having her create something vintage that looks like it’s from the thirties. The City on the Edge of Forever is our favorite episode. The crew travels back in time to—” 

Erin’s expression simply melts. Kate looks to Reggie so they can share a smirk, but he’s looking at Erin, a shy, fond look creeping across his features. And _shit_ , Kate knows what that means. Fucking hell, really? Ugly feelings that Kate doesn't let see the light of day—bitterness worse than anything she's ever remembered feeling—suddenly spill forth. Her insides are a searing mess of jealousy and inferiority.

Kate feels betrayed, and for once, not immediately by herself. She’s the person they _all_ know best and the one that brought them _all_ together tonight and even though she never cares if things are about her—and they never are—Kate cares _right now_ , in this moment. She feels ashamed and ugly and lonely and even though she's surrounded by people who care about her, she feels like the lone survivor on a desert island, marooned and distant. When they leave, they get to go spend time with other people or each other, but Kate? Kate gets to fuck off back to her empty apartment, and that realization almost makes her push their table over and storm out. These are people that would be so disgusted by everything she’s feeling now, and she should be happy, damn it, even though they’d all clearly be with other people but are nice enough to be with her here, now. They're her friends, her fucking friends, and even though it's gone in a flash, in that instant she hates them.

Kate yelps and nearly drops her beer when she feels the tips of Jake’s bony fingers dig into her left kneecap. A staple of her childhood, he hasn’t done that since they were kids. 

“You’re looking pretty serious over there, Katy,” Jake says, not unkindly. He doesn’t look concerned outright, but he knows she’s a little off and is too caring to let it go completely. 

“Only because you’re lying about your favorite episode,” Kate improvises confidently. “You like the one with those little furry animals—the ones that shriek at that guy. You used to talk about them all the time.”

“If I did, then you’d at least remember what they’re called!” Jake fires back. 

Kate calls them the wrong thing just to watch him sputter indignantly. She does remember what they’re called and that the episode is named ‘The Trouble with Tribbles.’ Kate knows it takes place on Deep Space Station K7 and that it revolves around a Klingon plot to sabotage a shipment of grain called quadrotriticale. But she doesn’t tell him—she never does—just for the histrionics. Erin and Reggie are watching Jake’s nerd rage unfold with wide eyes.

Kate has to try harder, she knows, to suppress her dark and wandering thoughts. She used to be so good at it, back when she was younger. But lately she keeps losing control and making people worry. She’ll never be alright again or all better, but she’s never really felt that way in the first place. There's always adjustments to be made, more fine-tuning. It's tiring, but she manages to keep it up through dinner. She's known Jake long enough that she can coast by with minimal effort, but she has to constantly remind herself to stay engaged in the conversation. Shame burns through her the whole time. She has no right to be jealous of people who make better choices.

After dinner, she and Jake watch Erin and Reggie walk together to her car so closely that their hands brush each other. Kate has her first cigarette in months with Jake, who still doesn’t want Norah to know he still smokes. There’s no way she can miss the concerned looks he keeps shooting her, but like Reggie, he knows better than to push her. They don't talk. They don't need to. They inhale and exhale and their eyes talk for them without them having to say a word. The go through half a pack each before they realize it's almost 2AM.

With a fond muss of her hair and a kiss on the cheek, he waves off her offer to drive him to his hotel, claiming that the idea of trying out Uber for the first time is too good to pass up. Kate rolls her eyes. She’ll see him in a few days at the Jennings’ house. She wonders if Jake will talk about her with Norah before realizing they must have far better things to talk about than her.

Really, anything would be better to talk about.

-  


-  


Breathing hard, Kate collapses against the wall and slides down to the floor. The burning in her lungs is nothing compared to her injured pride.  


“Where do you learn this shit?”  


Brent appears to be thinking hard. “I learned that last move in Israel, I think.”  


That outclassed feeling creeps back, but truthfully? Who knows where Brent’s been? The only journeys Kate typically makes are to the gym and grocery store. There's a definite experience gap for a lot of reasons.  


“Your FBI training isn’t bad, but I could really help you.”  
Blinking, Kate shakes her head. Simultaneously exasperating and tempting, that offer. “Fuck off.”  


“Are you jealous of my skills, Macer?”  


Kate charges him, completely without serious intent, and Brent effortlessly tips her over his shoulder. His hands on the backs of her thighs are the only thing preventing her from sliding head-first down his back. She goes lightheaded at being tilted upside down so abruptly, and admirably fights off the momentary urge to puke.  


“You’ve gained at least five pounds,” Brent intones, bouncing her a little on his shoulder to gauge her heft, “maybe even ten.”  


He gives her quads a pinch and grunts when she drives her knee into his chest. Kate shrieks as Brent drops her to the ground on her ass, dancing away from her thrashing feet as she tries to kick him. She’s not trying to hurt him (although she really doubts she could) but just landing one actual hit would be nice. Brent’s standing with his arms crossed, giving her a very skeptical look.  


Kate wonders if she's just failed some sort of test. She really hopes not, because Christmas is tomorrow and she doesn't know how much emotional compromising she can handle beforehand. Brent's not going to slip up and accidentally give her some black eye she won't be able to explain away, but every time he comes and goes, she gets a little pensive afterwards because of his history with her brother. The person that said time heals all wounds is a dumbass.

“Katy, you all learn the same routines at the Academy. It’s pretty much a mix of everything at this point. Nothing’s necessarily ineffective but they don’t teach you anything that will give you an edge in a fight—everyone already knows what’s in your arsenal. Combined with an opponent's superior strength, you don't really stand a chance. I've seen some improvement over the past year, but I think you could do better. Plus I’m definitely better than anyone they could have had teaching you, so…”  


Pulling a sweaty lock of hair away from her face, Kate stares up at him. “You sound pretty stuck on yourself.”  


Shrugging, Brent holds out his hand to help her up. She takes it, taking a moment to admire the way he effortlessly pulls her to her feet. The line of his bicep isn’t exactly hard on the eyes, and Kate knows it’s been awhile if she’s checking out Brent of all people.  


“Seriously though, you’ve put on a little muscle,” Brent informs her. “I know it’s always been tough for you. Are you using more weights?”  


Cheeks a little pink, Kate averts her eyes, because it's only because someone is playing mother hen to her. “It’s Reggie’s new partner, Erin. I accidentally unleashed her on my workout routine and diet. She makes sure I eat well and consistently. Apparently ‘a bag of chips if I have time’ is an unacceptable dietary guideline. She’s trying to make me look like her, I think. I don’t think she can magically grant me her D-cup, but at least I don’t look like a pencil.”  


“I can tell you’re doing the ballet again.”  


“Yes, but without the ice packs and bloody tape and being so tired that I fall asleep on the floor of my apartment after I shut the door behind me.”  


Brent smiles. “You look good now. Healthy.”  


“Are you saying I didn’t before?” Kate cocks her head.  


She already knows the answer before Brent shrugs. He may be a badass now, but Kate remembers how he threw up when he was nine after seeing her shredded toenails and mangled feet. Ever since then, ballerinas have always made him uncomfortable. It’s one of only three things ever he’s shown any kind of aversion to.  


“Erin might be making you look good, but improving your fighting is completely different. I meant what I said. You need something else. Got any vacation days coming up?”  


Kate laughs. “Like private boot camp? Sifu Brent? Or Curtis-sensei?”  


“Uh, it’s not really going to be fun, Kate. But I’m offering. Starting the day after Christmas, I'll train the shit out of you. I can't really turn you into Rambo but I can help make you better.”  


There is almost an enchanting inflection on that last word. The smile dies on her lips as Kate considers the offer. For so long, a part of her has wanted this. She’s never asked—never dared to—and for all the new-found, not-quite-genuine peace she’s striving for, this is something she finds more real and exciting than anything. These are skills she arguably doesn’t need, at least not anymore. She’s barely out in the field. It's like revisiting a past she's ashamed of—oh wait, that's _exactly_ what that is—but the idea of toeing that line of hurt is seductive and tempting. It's another test, Kate thinks, and then it's suddenly easier to justify.  


It’s not a step in the right direction, but Kate can confidently say she has no idea what that actually is anymore.  


Better, he said. Okay. 

“I accept.”


	6. Your Heart's Too Big, That's Why You Suffer

-  
Contrary to popular belief, Kate doesn’t burn water when she tries to cook. Despite growing up with a personal in-house chef, she’s had thirteen years on her own to hone some modest skill. Considering that Dave's wife, Marina, has banished everyone else from the kitchen, Kate’s honored to be helping in any capacity. It’s nice to feel useful. Kate obediently sticks to cutting vegetables into precise and uniform slices for Christmas Eve dinner. 

The Muppet’s Christmas Carol is playing in the background. In their pretty Christmas dresses, Martha, Amy, and Clara are singing along (they play this movie all year long and have it memorized) and reciting their favorite lines and laughing when they all say the same thing in unison. Dave, Norah, and Jake are engaged in lively discussion about Jake’s latest trip for Doctors Without Borders. Marina’s preparing a five course meal in a burgundy silk Dior dress and her great grandmother’s vintage diamond earrings twinkle in the candlelight. The dress Erin helped her pick out is the prettiest thing in her closet, and at least Kate _looks_ like she fits in with them. 

Everything is so _nice_. 

This Christmas Eve is not indicative of most Christmases Kate has experienced. Her earlier bitterness has mostly ebbed, but she’s still a little sad. Even though the Jennings clan is pretty much perfect and better than her own in every way, she still wishes that there was a way she could still be with her parents and Jamie like a normal family. The Macers never bothered with Christmas, not in any way that counted. They decorated the house for the benefit of all the guests they invited over for fancy holiday parties. They purchased and exchanged expensive gifts that were incredibly impersonal and thoughtless. They weren’t religious at all, so Kate didn’t even understand the significance of Jesus to the holiday until she was a teenager and her parents thought going to church might boost their public image before her dad’s first campaign for Senate. Christmas was something they underwent; it was an endurance event, not a celebration. 

Kate’s one of the lucky few with the luxury of choosing her family, or one of the lucky few to have a family choose her. She tries not to think of it as pity—that Dave and Marina saw a neglected seven year old girl and adopted her like one would pick up and look after a stray cat. But ever since her brother died, Kate can’t stand to be alone with her parents. They certainly can't stand to be alone with her. 

But every Christmas, Kate always sends a card and her mom sends her some laughably expensive gift that doesn’t suit her, but she supposes it’s better than the complete absence of anything that exists between her and her dad. Half of her life has gone by since they last spoke. Sometimes Kate wishes that her real family got together like the Jennings, and sometimes she’s glad that they don’t, so that she can spend it with people she loves instead. She doesn't have to worry about getting slapped for saying something John doesn't like or hide her mother's liquor or suffer awkward silences of biting questions about her personal life.

The Jennings family is happy to have her. They always have been. They took an interest in her, looked out for her, and inspired her. With ease, Norah became her best friend, looking after her in a way that doesn’t feel like looking after. Kate was introduced to Swan Lake when Marina took her to the ballet. And Dave’s career with the Bureau is what ultimately convinced her to join. Kate feels like she owes them, even if the Jennings family doesn’t feel like that. Kate has done absolutely nothing for them.

(Kate once asked Norah why she was her friend, and Norah smiled and said it was because Kate is a remarkable person. She still has no idea what that means or what to do with that. It’s simply not true. Kate’s never had to be jealous of Norah’s family—Norah’s family is hers. And Norah, who looks like a cross between Jessica Alba and Scarlett Johansson, with the perfect job and perfect husband and perfect kids and perfect parents and perfect life, has never had a single reason to be jealous of Kate.) 

Kate doesn’t want children. She thinks that maybe meeting the right man someday might change her mind, and in the same train of thought, figures it’s not meant to be if she hasn’t found him after thirty one years. Even though Jake did an admirable job of trying to pay her back for introducing him to Norah, the man he found for her—the man she actually married—was never going to be the father of her theoretical children. Despite his PhD, great family, politesse, good looks, and general perfection, she couldn’t see her having children with Evan, and if not with someone who had no real flaws, then who? Reggie carries on like she'll meet the love of her life someday. But Kate knows she's not easy to love.

And she thinks, sometimes, about Alejandro, and the family he had. That once he'd been a man good enough to attract a wife who wanted to raise a daughter with him. That he'd fought on the right side of the law for the right reasons and he fought the right way. The idea of him sitting down for family dinner like a normal man and celebrating Christmas Eve actually stops her in her tracks. Marina takes the plate of potatoes from her hands and gives her a questioning look.

Kate can't tell her that she was envisioning a Mexican hitman having dinner with his wife before they cut off her head and his daughter before they dumped her in a vat of acid. She wonders what kind of a husband and father he was. She wonders if he ever wants to be one again. He must make a modest living "consulting" with the CIA and he's not an unattractive man. Kate reasons that he might not have to work too hard to find a woman willing to marry him and bear him children. The idea of him prospering after what he did to her just _hurts._ That the world does not deliver to people what they deserve does not get any easier to accept.

But Kate also thinks, while sitting in a room full of wonderful people completely oblivious to her turmoil, that she doesn’t really deserve their kindness either. When Kate wakes up at the Jennings house the next morning—Christmas morning—she’ll have a whole pile of gifts from Marina and Dave, from Norah and Jake, and from the girls. They'd all be genuinely happy if Kate just bought them cards, and the idea of people so kind is just overwhelming sometimes. Kate wonders if you can taint goodness in others through proximity alone. She worries that the next time they look at her they'll be able to discern every unworthy thought in her mind and rightfully discard her. 

The delicious lamb that Marina serves every Christmas Eve tastes like ash in her mouth. Kate's self-esteem has always failed her around the Jennings family, but it's been getting worse lately and Kate finds that worrisome. At least the holiday has everyone so distracted that no one notices during dinner, except for Martha, who makes pointed eye contact with Kate three times before dessert. Ten-year-old Martha, who follows Neil deGrasse Tyson's twitter account religiously and knows every single Pink Floyd lyric ever committed to vinyl, knows that there is something seriously wrong with Kate, and knows that as a ten-year-old she is likely to never get an explanation. 

But she _knows._

Kate gives her a watery smile over her glass of white wine. 

The weak, unsure smile Martha summons in response hurts to look at.

It dawns on Kate this is the same smile she's been giving to people since she got back from Juarez. Kate can't fake being "fine" well enough to trick a fifth grader. 

Kate stares at her slice of bûche de Noël cake and does not dare look up. By the end of the meal, Martha has been distracted five times over by her family members and seems to forget about Kate entirely. It's both a disappointment and a relief. 

-

Later as she sits with Marina, Dave, Norah, and Jake at midnight mass, Kate can’t help but wonder if Alejandro ever sat in a church like this with his wife, his daughter safely asleep and waiting for his return. One such time his daughter went to sleep and never saw her father again upon waking. Cartel scum burst into her house and butchered her and her mother like they were animals. 

Panic for the girls back at the Jennings house sets in. Kate knows she’s being absurd, but doesn’t calm down until an hour later, when the girls are awoken by their return and demand to be tucked in again by their dad. Kate overhears him wish them all a Merry Christmas and wonders how they're able to get back to sleep after he hugs them goodnight. Half an hour later when she checks on them, they're all asleep, so in her stocking feet, Kate lumbers back to bed.

While staring at the white ceiling of Dave and Marina’s guest bedroom, Kate’s heart races at the thought of someone coming here and hurting one of them. Kate always jokes that for Democrats, they really have a lot of guns, but it’s a sensible precaution given Dave’s career. Norah and Jake are pretty much pacifists, but Kate wonders if their girls would ever go into Dave’s line of work one day. The thought is a little upsetting, actually.

Once upon a time, did Alejandro look at his daughter and want that kind of life for her? Did he want her to grow up and be brave—kicking in doors and facing down criminals? Did he want her to be a doctor or a lawyer? Or maybe he didn't care what she did, as long as she was _happy_. Was she old enough to even know what she wanted to be when she grew up? 

The thoughts comes unbidden and Kate has no idea why she’s thinking of Alejandro so much when she’s managed to go for a long time keeping her thoughts of him in check. She hasn’t seen him in eighteen months. There’s no reason for her to care about what he’s doing or what he’s thinking, given how very little regard he has for her. He’s a very “revenge is a dish best served cold” type but Kate has done nothing to warrant a blip on his radar other than exist, at this point.

At one time, that was enough. Bottom line, Kate almost died because she was in the wrong room with the wrong man and got picked for the wrong mission because she had something to prove. 

Kate finds no sleep and Christmas morning passes in a blur. She doesn't remember eating breakfast or opening gifts or saying goodbye to anyone, despite Norah texting her the pictures on her way home. She fills her arms with the gifts for her trek upstairs to her apartment but doesn't have the strength to put any of it away before collapsing on her couch and sleeping away the afternoon. She sets an alarm so she wakes up for Brent's visit the next morning before falling asleep again and not waking until the next day.

-

“This is new,” Kate says carefully, eyeing the bag that Brent hands her. It's the day after Christmas and this is literally the last thing she'd ever expect—a present from Brent Curtis. The tissue paper isn’t flashy, but the package it obscures is efficiently wrapped, no doubt a task that he found easy despite his inexperience. Everything is easy for Brent. 

“Well, I’m usually not around for holidays and you’re the only person I’d ever consider buying a gift for.”

Kate scratches her cheek, still kind of surprised. “I certainly didn’t buy you anything.”

Brent shrugs. “I’d never expect you to.”

Eyes narrowed, she can practically feel the crease between her brows grow as she studies him. She cuts right to the chase. Kate can be like him too—concise, daring, confrontational—at least sometimes.

“You’re not being normal right now. What's going on with you?”

“I’ve never been normal, Katy.”

Bemused smile firmly in place, Kate cocks her head. “I could say the same.”

Brent paces a little back and forth before sitting down across from her. Her furniture creaks beneath his body—he’s easily more than twice what she weighs. 

“Katy, this isn’t going to be easy to hear, but you deserve to know. If you ever found out that I knew and didn’t tell you, you’d never speak to me again.”

Twirling the gift around in her slender hands, Kate meets his green eyes unflinchingly. Brent doesn’t talk like that—ever. Kate practically grew up with him, but he seems almost…worried. Hell, he doesn’t get nervous. It’s kinda freaking her out.

“Try me,” Kate challenges, but she’s not good at being aloof. She shifts uneasily in her chair and waits for him to come out with it.

“It’s about Jamie.”

The package tilts out of Kate’s hands and onto the table next to her. Brent doesn’t talk about her brother much. It’s probably because her brother’s dead; that’s a pretty common, easy-to-understand explanation for avoidance. Brent and James loved each other and fifteen years later she’s still not sure if it was platonic or not; whatever it was, it was cut short before its time. 

(Sometimes she wonders if Brent has the same questions she has. It’s not like James is still alive to ask.)

“What else is there to find out? Rich kid goes on vacation and gets kidnapped; rich asshole father running for public office ‘does not negotiate with terrorists,’ does not pay ransom, gets son killed in process.”

(When she found her way to the FBI, there was a reason she picked hostage rescue. Kate doesn’t bother to keep the bitterness out of her voice when Marina flat out asks her one day.) 

“Jamie wasn’t targeted just because he had a rich father. He was targeted because he had a very specific rich father.”

Kate’s so glad to be sitting down. Head between her knees, she successfully fights of a wave of nausea. Kate would love to know when John Motherfucking Macer will stop ruining her life. When she finally looks up, his expression hasn’t changed much. 

“Shit, what was Dad up to?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure. It’s taken my entire career to get the clearance to poke around.”

“Are you saying you joined up just so you could play detective?” Kate asks weakly. “That you’ve endured some of the hardest military training in the world just so you’d have security access to look into my brother’s death?”

“That’s what I’m saying, Katy,” Brent confirms gravely. “I don’t have proof. But I have a lead. Fifteen years for a goddamn lead.”

“Does Dad know you’re looking into this?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about me by this point.”

Despite herself, Kate smirks. “Don’t worry, he’s forgotten all about me, too.”

“If he suspects that I’m snooping around I’ll have to leave the country.”

“And the government won’t mourn the loss of such a great asset?”

Brent shakes his head. “Katy, you don’t know anything about my job. I do whatever is asked of me and I don’t talk. If they thought I was a liability, I’d be so done. Sometimes I’m surprised they haven’t already tried. But as long as I’m still useful to them, they’ll keep me around. And I am…quite useful.” 

“What are you going to do about the information you found? How do you exactly pursue a lead like that?”

With a shrug, Brent leans back. “I don’t exactly have to report every day for a nine-to-five. I have a handler I check in with regularly but a great deal of the time I just go about my business. I don’t engage in any high-risk behavior so I’m not watched that closely anymore. Sometimes my missions require me to go off-grid for days or even a week at a time.”

“Jesus, this sounds like some spy shit. Are you a spy?” Brent blinks at her, and Kate shakes her head. “Never-fucking-mind. Don’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Katy,” Brent says sincerely, “I can’t tell you about what I do, but you deserve to know the truth about Jamie. He didn’t get targeted because he was partying too hard in Cancún. There’s more to it than just a lie that John Macer’s been telling you since you were a teenager.”

“Do you think I’m in danger after all this time?”

“It’s doubtful, since no one really knows he’s your father. After Jamie died he didn’t make any public appearances with you. He talks about the kids he adopted with your mom after you went off to college and never came back, but not a word about you. I checked into those people you rolled out with in Juarez. I don’t think even they know he’s related to you. I personally find that sloppy vetting, but hey, it wasn’t my op.” 

“They were more than enough for me,” Kate says darkly, and Brent leans forward and puts his hand on her arm. 

“Katy, I feel like I’m finally getting to do what I signed on for. This was always my endgame. And if I die doing it, I’ll feel better about that than anything I did for the last fifteen years to get me here. I don’t know what I’ll find. This might be the only chance I have to find the people that did this.” 

Vividly, Alejandro comes to mind; Alejandro, the venerated prosecutor, severing ties with the law so he can pursue vigilante justice. He must have stood somewhere and thought out very carefully how he would dismantle his life and restart it in the service of a drug cartel. He remade himself completely to achieve his revenge. How much of himself did he lose in the process?

Kate recoils from Brent’s touch as if burned. Misreading her distress, he explains himself further. 

“If I think you’re in danger, I’ll stop, because you’re still the one thing I have left to lose. But I need this, Katy.”

Brent, the only person Kate allowed to see her at her absolute worst after crawling back from Juarez, needs her to understand. And she does, because growing up, James was her world. As a teenager she was forced to watch her father spin his death in ways that disgusted her to gain sympathy and later, support, for his Senate race. If Brent can get justice, Kate has no problem with that. If he can somehow implicate John Macer in the process, Kate will throw him a fucking party.

Surreptitiously, she studies Brent’s profile, his perfect hair and immaculate bone structure and unflappable expression, and sees the first hints of weariness. Kate knows for a fact that he was torn up when James died, but he never broke apart so visibly the way she did. Kate wishes so badly she can hide her pain and weakness so effectively that no one knew it existed, as Brent did. The idea of him toiling ineffectively for a mere hint of hope that one day he'd find what he was looking for...Kate knows she's not strong enough for that. A part of her is sad that Brent was never able to move on, but a bigger part of her is happy that he didn't. None of this information would have come to light without his dedication. Kate certainly hadn't thought there was anything more to his murder. 

Mind racing, Kate uncharacteristically changes the subject. “So, what did you get me for Christmas?”

“Guess.”

There’s no way in hell Kate expected him to give her a gift, let alone guess what it could be, but she's familiar with the shape, at least. "It's clearly a DVD."

"But of what, though? C'mon, Katy."

Rolling her eyes, Kate refuses to answer. 

After pulling off the paper, she finds a copy of Dirty Dancing. Memories of her at the age of twelve come surging back. Kate actually cries, remembering all the times she had pestered Brent into reenacting scenes from that movie. Before he became a mysterious badass, Brent Curtis was just an orphan boy from suburban DC, and was easy going enough of a kid to go along with almost anything she asked. He spent so much time at her house growing up it was like having another Macer around. Kate’s not sure if she ever felt particularly sisterly towards him, but probably didn’t react in the predictable fashion to having an incredibly handsome boy around on a nearly daily basis. 

“I remember making you lift me up over your head.”

“You’re so small I’m sure I can probably still do it.”

“I put on some muscle recently,” Kate protests, but Brent looks like he can bench a motorcycle. 

"You're still skinny compared to me."

"Everyone is skinny compared to you, Brent. You look like you're about to star in a Marvel movie."

"I've always preferred DC."

"Amy wants me to dress up like Black Widow for Halloween so she can dress up like Sharon Carter. She wants you to dress up like Captain America."

"I'm pretty sure getting my picture taken and posted on social media will cause me to get flagged by my superiors."

"It's not really fun being a badass, I guess."

Brent shrugs. "Nope. I don't do anything that qualifies as fun. I get to do plenty of stuff I enjoy, but I don't really have fun. Speaking of people that don't have fun, you're on my training regimen until New Year's."

As if to illustrate his point, Brent dumps out her coffee and hands her some vile looking protein shake he has stashed in a gym bag. It's _green_.

Kate's mouth twists into a frown. 

"Just remember: you asked for this."

With a snort, Kate steels herself and reaches for the bottle.


	7. Loose Ends Tangle Down

-

“You must be the only person to come back from vacation looking more tired than when you left.”

Erin’s tone is light, joking even, but Kate knows she looks like shit and honestly, Erin is putting it nicely. There’s nothing she can say in response that doesn’t sound really petty so Kate flashes an apologetic and slightly mysterious smile and just keeps walking.

“Vacation” with Brent was a brutal crash course week of pure hell. Apparently Kate wastes a lot of valuable time thinking about the right way to respond instead of taking action, and one hundred and sixty eight hours of someone constantly testing her until she reacted according to their high standards amounts to time well spent. Four hours of sleep a night and being forced awake to train until she collapsed from exhaustion reminds her that when moral reasoning fails her, her body will be ready to take over and keep her alive. 

Instincts are something Kate tends to ignore, because her first instinct is to fight and she's not really good at winning her battles. Juarez defeated her spirit but Brent wanted to break her down physically, too. In the aftermath, every bit of strength remaining feels hard-won and satisfying, built on a more solid foundation than panic attacks and exposure therapy; self-indulgent thoughts like doubt and fear are pared away by pain and sleep deprivation. 

In her exhausted state, Kate is almost too tired to notice Matt almost a year after spotting him in Dave’s office from afar. Twenty two months of nightmares and painfully reassembled self-esteem almost come flying back at her before she manages to lower her gaze just a hair so she’s staring at his lower lash line. Even from across the room she can feel his presence encroaching. 

“Hi.” 

The voice she has tried very hard to forget still oozes confidence. She’s not sure she can match it, and merely nods at him while praying that her resting bitch face hasn’t given away her surprise. She stares quite intently at Dave, who’s outlining the details of the raid that Reggie led earlier that day. The two teen girls rescued had been surprised to live through the chaos, especially when seven others had been found murdered at the warehouse. It reminded her of the house rigged with explosives. Fucking awful on a whole other level.

Reggie is oddly nowhere to be found. 

The sinking feeling in Kate’s gut intensifies when she makes eye contact with Dave. She knows what’s coming—she knows why Reggie is gone. Dave knows what Reggie will say if Matt asks him to help. 

And for all of the soul-searching and emotional rebuilding and failed compartmentalizing she's done, Dave does not know what Kate will say.

Kate takes a long and hard look at Matt and his fucking plastic flip flops and opens her mouth to say no.

“Yes.”

Matt smiles. He’d be handsome if Kate didn’t kind of really hate him.

Kate tries to recapture her demeanor the first time they met. Cool, measured voice and fearless eye contact. Wry, even, when he asked questions the wrong side of personal. 

“Same take off spot as last time?” 

“Yes, at oh-nine-hundred, day after tomorrow.”

“Are we going back to _El Paso?”_

At that, Matt actually laughs, and Kate would punch him in the mouth if Dave wasn’t sitting ten feet away. Matt must be desperate, but rumor has it that he and his team of merry motherfuckers got their last liaison killed. The agent’s brother played professional football and made a _huge_ fuss about it on social media. Government agencies aren’t quite so willing to offer up fresh lambs, so Matt’s probably been waiting for something convenient like this raid for awhile.

Only the king of assholes sees a headline with seven dead teenage girls and thinks ‘what a great opportunity.’

Dave and Matt discuss a few minor details and there is no mention of a specialist or consultant or fucking _hitman_ and Kate has no idea what she’s getting herself into. It’s easy to pretend to be brave; she just has to wait until she’s dismissed to react.

Kate will go to the airstrip, except Reggie won’t be driving her, because he told her when they got back less than two years ago that he’s absolutely done dealing with Black Ops. (Maybe she won’t even tell him, except she knows that Dave has already likely informed him.) She’ll show up alone and listen to Matt snore on a tiny couch and fly to hell on a private jet. She doesn’t know if she’ll see Alejandro. A part of her expects that he’s changed his mind about letting her live. She didn’t take the sound advice to fuck off to Timbuktu, after all.

_I am not a wolf._

It’s pointless to think she has one iota of control in this situation. But she will witness. The truth might never be recorded on a piece of paper, but she will know. Exerting the power to stop the madness might get her killed. Kate’s got two neat little holes in her chest from trying to stop the madness last time. She’s not going to put her life on the line to protect scumbags drug dealers. _No_. But if she's forced to take action to protect innocent people, she’ll take it without hesitation.

(If she has to go out making a difference then she’ll get to die a human being. It's what gets her past being shot at and blown up and knocked down.)

Kate used to think there wasn’t another situation in the world that would make her ever go anywhere with Matt, not ever, but once again, she’s been proven wrong just because she had the nerve to believe in something. Dave set her on the path to FBI—the path Matt nearly pushed her off of. She finally had a calling, and it was brutally thrown back in her face. Dave gets to watch her potentially fuck up all over again.

Realizing she's probably being dramatic, Kate takes a deep breath. She does not want to think what kinds of situations Matt will put her in, but it's her own goddamn fault for agreeing in light of that fact.

For not being much of a talker, Kate's mouth really gets her in a lot of trouble.

-

The sun is shining a little too brightly for her day to start off on the wrong foot. It has the good sense to wait until she sets foot on the tarmac and into the earshot of Matt's bullshit.

“At least it didn’t matter this time that Reggie wasn’t on the list. Guess it’ll just be you and me like it should have been before you decided you needed to phone a friend.”

Kate stopped abruptly and turned on her heel. “I know you’re using me this time. We’ve got a common goal right now, so I can live with that. But if you’re going to be an unbearable dick, whatever mission you have can wait until you sucker in some poor, unsuspecting bastard. I’m not putting up with your childish games this time.”  
Half expecting him to tell her to take a hike, what Matt says next takes Kate by surprise.

“When Dave told you to think carefully before volunteering, he was trying to do you a favor in his mind. He wasn’t very happy with me the last time I saw him, and I’m one hundred percent sure it’s because of how things went down with you.”

And the funny thing is that Matt actually sounds sorry, at least for upsetting Dave. She has no idea why he’s even remotely attempting to placate her when he seems to respect her so little, but he did that last time, too; when she was pissed and going off like a firecracker, he took the time to explain the end game and why it had to be like that. On some level he wants her to understand.

“It’s fucked up to die over this shit, like those poor girls at the warehouse,” Matt continues. “But that’s why we do what we do. And that’s why you want to help me again. I get that you don’t really want to _help me_ ; none of us really wants to be stuck taking out the trash. Cartels like to make statements, and a body count like that is a taunt, plain and simple.”

“And that’s why I came here today.”

“I figured you’d be up to the challenge this time.”

And there’s something Kate has to ask. She should have asked before she even said yes, but it’s technically not too late to back out. “Are you going to sic a hitman on me again?”

Matt looks at her carefully. “Are you going to go run your mouth about how you’re going to run your mouth?”

Kate sighs. She’s tired of this asshole and they haven’t even left yet. But what she did back then was stupid, and she knows that now. She was too angry at the time to control herself, but Matt is a dangerous man in charge of many dangerous men. He doesn’t go broadcasting it, but he put her down pretty quick when she went wild, and she hasn’t forgotten. If she had to sell her soul to do the kind of work he did, she’d be pissed off if some young and green bystander was going to jeopardize it.

“Let’s just go already.”

Matt snickers at her genuine exasperation as they board the jet. He takes his customary spot (the entire back half of the cockpit and leaves her the seat she took the first time around. The seat Alejandro took is empty, and she’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed. It does make a little tension leave her, and she cracks her neck and stretches out her legs in preparation for the long flight to wherever-the-hell they’re going.

Paging through reports on a plane ride is enough to make anyone’s eyes bleed. It’s Matt’s idea of a joke, really. Any and all relevant information she requested is redacted; Kate actually picks up a piece of paper that is completely blacked out except for the margins and the phrase “left a series of tire impressions.” Matt finally throws her a bone and everything he gives her is useless, of course. She’s tempted to dump the stack of papers on his face where he’s asleep on his side, but settles for shoving everything back in the folder and slamming it shut. Her eyes are so strained from trying to make out hints of words that they’re starting to tear up.  


There’s something that prevents Kate from falling asleep on the jet even though she's still exhausted from training with Brent. It’s not like she thinks Matt’s going to do something especially nefarious. It’s just that she has intermittent nightmares, and the last thing she wants to do is echo Alejandro’s abrupt awakening on the plane by putting on a show of her own. She doesn’t want Matt to know how deeply she’s been affected, even if he suspects and assumes. He’s already smug enough.

And, she reminds herself, regardless of Matt bring with her or even Alejandro showing up, she's still got a job to do.

-

The tarmac is empty when they land near Juarez. And there’s no guarantee that Alejandro is even attached to this case. He got his revenge, Kate’s figured out that much. She’s not sure if he’s washed his hands of the Medellín Cartel now that his family’s been avenged. He’s good enough to slip away. He could literally be anywhere.

As Kate and Matt climb into a black Tahoe, he gives her a funny look. She completely ignores the inappropriate conversation that he has with Steve. Her eyes are busy scanning the road ahead.

“You haven’t asked about Alejandro.”

“Is there a reason I need to?”

“Hmm…is there?” Matt shrugs, and his failed attempt at nonchalance is a warning bell. It doesn't necessarily mean he'll show up, but Matt taking an interest in any of her thoughts or opinions outside this particular job can't be a good thing. Kate wonders what Alejandro told him, if anything. Matt probably doesn’t give a shit; he got his waiver.

If she’s too flippant, Matt will surely guess at the profound affect he’d had on her. “The last time I came with you, Alejandro was only there for one reason. You said yourself he went along with anyone that got him closer to his goal. He made it back from Mexico, so I assume he got his revenge. He has no reason to necessarily still be working for you.”

And Kate’s not sure if that comes off as a plea, but it's a very logical argument.

“Huh,” Matt grunts, as if her having this line of thought never occurred to him.

“Are you actually going to tell me what’s going on this time?”

“Normally this is where I tell someone I preferred them when they weren’t so mouthy, but you always have been a piece of work.”

“Considering you had a passing familiarity with me, you should have picked someone else if it bothered you.”

“As long as you keep signing those waivers, you can be as mouthy as you want.” Matt’s shit eating grin is just begging to get punched off his face so Kate looks away first.

“There are some things that I won’t let you get away with,” Kate says quietly.

“Honey, just you try and stop me.”

Whether it’s a challenge or a statement, Kate can’t tell. Matt doesn’t go out of his way to slaughter the masses; he’s too pragmatic for that. He certainly hates messy. But he takes risks that endanger civilians. He engages in attacks that so illegal it hurts Kate’s brain to think about them. He condones the use of torture to extract information. He turned a blind eye to Alejandro’s little jaunt into Mexico that was surely a bloodbath. He epitomizes the ends justifying the means.

In Kate’s world, the means really matter. You can’t prosecute a suspect if someone mishandles evidence or goes off script or fucks up in a hundred minute ways on the path to building a case. She has to be so careful or she risks losing months or years of work. And Dave was right; for all the paperwork and research and testimonies, she’s not feeling the difference on the streets. It’s been almost two years since she came back from Juarez. She’s been lucky to have not been there for any of them, but four more raided houses had been rigged with explosives and two feds and five members of local law enforcement lost their lives.

Maybe Matt has a point, somewhere, under all that blood.

-

Matt’s Black Ops team is still full of assholes, and luckily she doesn’t have to interact with them much. They’re transporting a drug dealer—no one nearly as important as the first one—and there’s no shootouts or ambushes. Some of them nod to her, others ignore her completely, and one even offers her a cigarette, and thankfully none of them feel the need bring up her poor showing the last time they met. She wonders if they even remember her.

Juarez is a blur. The drug dealer cracks before anyone lays a finger on him. He doesn’t have immediate family but he is scared for his nieces and no doubt, that threat must have been inferred well before Kate’s arrival.

Kate battles rage and confusion when Matt confesses that the majority of their missions aren’t the three-ring circus she expected. The last seven were completely without incident. This one is the eighth. Apparently Kate just had the misfortune of signing on for one of the biggest ops Matt’s team ever executed—literally years in the making. It’s the kind of luck she’s known for.

Kate signs the waiver with a clean conscious and no small amount of disgust. In a total mockery of everything she went through nearly two years ago, the mission was uneventful and they had followed the law. They didn't even fucking speed on the highway.

She can’t bring herself to meet Reggie’s eyes when she gets back. He corners her three days later and demands details, but there’s nothing to tell. Not a drop of blood had been spilled. Reggie believes Kate when she tells him no laws were broken.

He doesn’t believe her when she says she’s alright.

But Kate is _fine._

Fine enough, at least, that when Matt comes by six weeks later, without hesitation, Kate looks at him again and says yes.

-


End file.
